Fireplace
(< Previous Chapter) - (Next Chapter >) Falk's POV A mighty tree loomed large on this Earth. It cast down a shadow on a city sat on a river. Fog rolled down the river, blanketing the city. Nightfires of all colors burned through the fog, twinkling like so many stars. Evenfall was nearing as the sun crawled down the sky, yet the nightfires continued burning, and a roar of activity echoed throughout the city. Merchants shouted at those passing by to purchase their wares. Children played barefoot in the streets, accompanying their mothers and fathers, like to have walked there from some distant village. Dogs barked, and dogs begged. Somewhere a man howled in pain as he was set upon by a dog. A man named him thief, and shouted for a nearby soldier. There was a gunshot. Passing caravans carried in items from far and wide. A huge yak was burdened by tens of kilograms on its back, and a man wearing a turban slowly guided the animal through the muddy streets. The houses above were squat and squalid, housing as many as they could fit and a score or two more. Near the outer limits of the city there stood a huge black wall, scarred with ancient burns. Beneath the black, veins of redstone looking much like blood peaked through. Pipes crossed the wall, and sewage fell from them. A black and red litter meandered slowly down a hill within the wall. Twenty strongmen carried it up on their shoulders. They were dark-skinned with thin eyes, and black hair, yet they were handsome, and well-dressed in bright red robes studded in gold. Men rode up on horses ahead of them, and footsoldiers ahead of them. They all wore queer black armor, lined with red and gold, and wore branches on their helms. Behind them, scores of soldiers, and smaller litters followed. Besides them, the River Roots rushed along, deafening all with its torrents of water, and hushing even the hustle and bustle of the city above. The roots of the mighty redwood, ancient Laochalk, reached deep into the river, forming bridges across it, and tunnels beneath it. Masses of sewage widened the bridges, dumped into the river, and flowing away with its current. Tall-towers cut into the fog, and plumes of smoked danced within it. A crowd gathered ahead of the litter. At its front stood an old man, blackened by the sun. His eyes were narrow, hard, and mean, yet they were wrinkled in such a way that showed that he had often smiled. He was not clean shaven, and was dressed as a beggar. He wore a wide conical hat upon his head, typical of farmers, and held in his hands something twisted. "Make way for your emperor," some footsoldier or another shouted. The old man stood his ground. A different old man, tall and wide with tan skin, and white hair, rode forth from his horse ahead of the litter to shout at the crowd. "Are you deaf or daft? We said make way for your emperor!” There was a long pause. "No. And we are neither,” the old man replied. “How can I make way for something I don't have? More than that, why don't you stop wasting your time? You know full well we mean to block your path, you are not much fool to think otherwise." Both old men stared hard at each other. A beat passed, and the large man up on horseback said "you speak treason. With the authority of my emperor, I sentence you to die." He unsheathed a curved sword, and began to dismount. "No need. That sentence was long ago passed," he said, kicking off his shoe, revealing a wooden leg. The man threw down the twisted thing in his arms. "That is my leg! Blackened with the maladies caused by those factories of death up on that hill. Now that blackness quickens in my thigh, and I must live as cancerman." The large old man was disgusted, judging by the look on his face. "My, but I thought was speaking to an old man, wise from age. It appears I speak to child. You really believe that those factories brought about your tumor? The Four Gods place pity upon good men, and spare them the trials and tribulations of cancer. Not so for the wicked." "You presume to call me wicked?" By this point, the whole line was stopped. "Aye," the larger man said, frowning. "And the wicked must be punished," he said rushing at the old man, blade in hand. The crowd behind him broke and ran. The old man stood proud, but he died all the same. His head flew clean off. A martyr for a dead cause. Footsoldiers gathered up the fallen body and leg to be taken to the nearest fourhouse for last rites. The river continued roaring, activity in the city continued, and most of all, the mighty tree took no notice. The old man called back the footsoldiers, and asked to take a look at the leg. It was black, swollen, and crawling with maggots and spiders. It stank fowly, and he could scarce hold back a gag. He stared back at the city, Thousandtrees, and there was, for a second, doubt in his eyes. He dismissed the footsoldiers, and walked to the litter. The emperor would need to hear of this. Upon approaching the litter the strongmen slowly began to lower the huge metal box. It shone red and bloody, decorated with black stripes, silver bolts, and large black horns. On its head the banner of the Forest Empire, a red diamond on a white field, itself on a larger red field. Out stepped a slight man in bright raiments. He was pale and lithe, taller than the average man, with short black hair, and green eyes. He wore red, black, and white robes decorated with golden weapons, as well as a tall, black and red, pointed hat made of cloth. The hat was studded with iron, and decorated with horn-like branches. He wore a sangahalk, the tall crownhelms of the Great Emperors of the Far West. It was of black cloth, sturdy, and decorated with branches, red leaves, and iron studs. "Why have we stopped, my Goodlord Holk?" The emperor demanded. "A traitor claiming political protest stood way. It fell to me to execute him in your name, my Great Emperor." The emperor stared at him, hard, "relay me his claims." "He was cancerman, and said that he believed the factories in Thousandtrees gave him, and his men, like to have also been cancermen, their maladies." "A common superstition," the emperor responded, masking rage with cool politeness. "Still, in these times I perhaps think it better that we keep the people on our side. Have men find the other protesters, and I would hear their grievances at Ayecamp," he commanded, gesturing to the horsemen ahead of the nearest litter. 'Small chance of them coming' he thought, sighing. Great Emperor Falk stepped back into the litter, and turned to look at another old man. "Evenfall approaches, inform the line that we ride hard for Ayecamp. Tell them to have any stragglers flogged. I'd have us there by evenfall tomorrow." The old man, gruff, and mean-looking, nodded "aye, my emperor." He stepped out of the litter, and called for a horse to be brought him. Within minutes, the line began moving again. ---- "Aye, aye, stop ya yammering, you two! Falk'll be here any second." The generals continued their yammering, ignoring the man completely. Shouts of "Garlcutter's aggression," "possible traitors in our midst," and "Imperial Honor," filled the huge red tent. They looked ready to murder one another. This was quite a serious matter. The older of the two was wearing aged, gold-colored armor decorated with red rivets, and red-colored characters. He stood up, face red, with his eyes almost bulging in anger. "That boy's gone and camped himself in the Snake Mountains," he shouted, pointing in a general easterly direction. "He could mean to do as Aye the Queen did and sneak a vanguard into Thousandtrees!" The younger man had tan skin, and sported a short black beard. He wore polished black armor. He considered the old man's words. "For the last time... Monok," Monok's face indicated he noticed the slight of not including his title of general. "Today is not then. Aye the Queen conquered half the world. She was beloved by the Four Gods - Garlcutter is horse dung masquerading as emperor." "You stupid fool, same could've been said about her!" He stood up, "what did you call me, old man?!" "You're lucky that I haven't named you traitor yet, you young, bloodless, limp-wristed amateur!" "I said shut up!" Olok shouted, the veins in his neck bulging with anger. "I'll not be scolded by a damn peasant," shouted back General Muluk. Olok backed down, but glared back at Muluk, only barely containing his rage. What he wouldn't give to smash his pretty face in. "You will, and you will enjoy it, if it so pleases me," Falk said sternly, walking into the room past Olok gracefully. General Muluk looked angry, but Falk knew that he respected his Great Emperor far too much to talk back to him. Falk was pale and lithe, taller than the average man, with short black hair, and green eyes befitting the Great Emperor of the Forest. He wore red, black, and white robes decorated with golden weapons, as well as a tall, black and red, pointed hat made of cloth. The hat was studded with iron, and decorated with horn-like branches. "Yes, your Imperial Majesty," he said, exhaling his anger. "Good. Now this meeting will commence." The three sat down whilst Olok stood guard at the tent's opening. "General Monok, what say you of all this?" Monok thought for a second, running his hands along his bald head. "Your majesty, forgive me, but I think we are late to act. Already the High Grey at the Eyes-&-Ears has given his blessing to Garlcutter. No other 'Great Emperor of the Stone' pretender has ever had this. Clearly this is a conspiracy to put a greyman at the helm of Sanolk." "Great Emperor of the Far West Ayeson Garlcutter, huh-?" Falk mused. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. 'A brute like that, following such an evil faith... he cannot be allowed to have such a great amount of power.' "Well, certainly the Sarplanders pose more a threat now than ever before, and should their threat grow in size, we would be right to make for war." "Your majesty, if I may," General Muluk said. "You may." "I say there is no need to take this threat seriously. A poisoner or just merely strengthening our border at the Pincer should keep the stability of the Great Empires. There is no need to make war-" "There is every need to make war," interjected Monok. Muluk glared at him angrily. 'How unprofessional, it seems to me they are very worried, regardless of Muluk's words.' "Anyway, your majesty, you have proven to be a pragmatic emperor time and time again. No matter what, I am certain that you will make the correct decision. But if you ask me, all we must do is strengthen our border. Perhaps an alliance with Escerd? Why drain our resources when we know that the Wealthman Balk has an ire equalling Monok's towards Ayeson." 'Aye there it is, never trust an Escerdishman. Not even if he's only half-Escerdish.' "I do not especially hate Garlcutter. No more than any other nearwestern trash. I merely fear that Telf means to cast a dark shadow on the forests, your majesty," Monok said. "I appreciate your concern, general... You fear that Ayeson might somehow pierce our border?" "No, I fear that he already has. Rumors out from Ayecamp speak of horsemen in Viper Valley, stolen weapons from storerooms, even a skinstealer." Falk's face contorted in mild rage, and he only barely noticed the fear on Muluk's face at the mention of a skinstealer. "Magicks! If ever there were a wrench to be thrown into mine plans, magicks would always be the one to throw it," Falk said with a worried look. "Yes your majesty. Us civilized Farwesterners, and even the Lobott and Crahishmen have a deep disdain for magicks. But these Sarplanders... they know not civilization, or honor, or love... all they know is their dark god, and the abominations he gives them. And with Telf backing them... not to mention all the worshippers of the Shadow in Flotch..." "Yes, these snakes make even those feuding Crowsmen look civilized," Falk said. "At least that's one thing we can all agree on," Muluk said. "Aye," said Olok from behind them. Falk turned to him, drinking in his appearance. Olok was a tall man, tattooed, dark, with a nose that's been broken more than once, and black shaggy hair. His horns were black as night, but his wings were a fleshy brown. "And what say you, guardsman?" Falk asked, a knowing smile on his face. The generals exchanged an uncomfortable look. "What say I? Heh... I say you give me 1,000,000 soldiers, and we ride past the Pincer to take back what both Sarpland, and the Lobott have taken. I say we burn Townforf, take back Lake Gehenne, and conquer Hocktonne. Soak the sands of Sarpland with blood, and use it as water to grow the pretty little flower of the Great Empires." Falk heard very little of what he said. He knew that it would be something ridiculous, possible only in a dream. To conquer Hocktonne would be impossible. These were not the old days when Far West ruled what it thought was the whole world. Even back then, Hocktonne was of tenuous loyalty, and gave rise to Aye the Queen, who killed the Great Emperor of the Forest. "That is no real strategy. If we meet him in open battle, we'll lose. You'll lose. Say what you will of the Sarplanders, and Garlcutter, but his mounted warriors are among the best horsemen on this entire planet. As Muluk said, if we play it smartly, conservatively, we will win. Garlcutter's men will throw themselves into the Pincer one after the other, and even if they ever break past our lines there, they'll have my armies to deal with. And not in open battle, but rather in the jungles, swamps, and forests of Cronenn's Crop, where my men excel." Olok frowned. If anybody else said that to him, even another Great Emperor, Olok would insult them harshly. Instead, he asked "Great Emperor, do ya not dream of once again making the Far West, of making Sanolk a Power-that-Is, and not a Power-that-Was?" "I'm sure we all do. But that is quite impossible," said Muluk. "Why is that impossible?" Monok asked. He knew the answer, but clearly he meant to say something important. "What have you got in mind, Monok?" Falk asked. "The Lobott hate us, and we hate them. There is no questioning that. But could we not make common cause with them? We both equally hate Sarpland, equally hate Ayeson, and equally hate their god Calthoss. Is it not preferable to make an alliance? If we succeed, there would be so much to gain from partitioning up the Sarpland. And it's not as though they're in a position to deny us." "Yes, you're correct, general. The Lobott are fighting a two-front war with the Sarplanders, and the King-that-Kills-Kings. If we go ahead with this plan, there would be little the Lobott could do to stop us, even from taking Hocktonne." "What little they could ''do, trust me they would do," Muluk said. "But I do think that is actually a good plan General Monok. We stand to gain from Ayeson's loss." "Alright. It's settled then. We'll iron out the details later, anything else to add?" "We will of course be needing the approval of Great Emperor Galmalk, and Princess Jenes," Monok said. "Of course. Galmalk agrees to everything his cousin Kalkolt tells him, and Jenes' regent Meleskett is a bloodthirsty louse. Both men are like to see the logic in this plan," Falk said, and turned to Olok. "Go to the post tent, and have the postman send pigeons to Skywar, and have a messenger, and guardsmen sent to Watercrown. Tell them to summon the Great Emperor of the Water, and the Princess of the Sky." "Aye, Great Emperor!" Olok said, leaving the tent. "Dismissed," Falk said. Monok, and Muluk got up, bowed slightly, and said their final "your majesty." Once they were gone, Falk went to the personal library in his tent. His tent was befitting a Great Emperor, and could easily fit an entire house within it. The tent contained not only his library, but also his war table, a large bed made of bearskins, a bathroom, a fireplace, and a study. The camp surrounding his tent had been recently put up in preparation for his armies to ride south to the Cronenn's Crop River Valley, where they would make for the Pincer Pass. Falk took a large book of maps out, and set it down on his war table. He opened it up to a map of the Sarpland. 'Now, how ought I partition her. I must have the Ruddy Sea, and all the border with the Claw. The Iresmen must be kept in check lest their piracy and rape be as it was in ancient times.' He frowned, 'I pray for us all should these plans fall through. I fear Monok is right. Garlcutter is no ordinary man. A true believer in Calthoss, with the Lyzard Lych, and Snakepit at his side. He must be crushed.' "Your majesty!" Olok called out from the opening of the tent. "You may come in," Falk said, not turning around, and continuing to stare hard at the map in front of him. "Did the postman send his pigeons out?" There was a short pause. "Yes your majesty. I've brought you a few letters." Falk frowned, "that's strange, Rofol usually doesn't entrust you with my letters. Only Monok, and Muluk know of our 'friendship.'" "Oh I stole them, thought I'd save your messenger boy a walk." "Listen, Olok, do not steal from Rofol. Were you just anyone else I'd have your hands chopped off. And I do believe that Lady Alka would take offense to being called a 'messenger boy' ... Are you fine? You seem a bit out of it." "No, it's nothing your majesty. Just tired is all." "Yes, you did have to listen to those two's incessant arguing for over an hour. Hand me the letters." Olok pulled out about six letters, and handed them to Falk. "Dismissed. Get out, go take a nap or something." Olok left without a word. 'Strange...' Three of the letters were seemingly unimportant. A small proposition from Ferbles Blachorn about a small trade deal so that he might open up a store in Thousandtrees. 'That man and his Orange Company are the last thing I'd want in the Far West. Mercenary bands, no better than Ayeson's ilk.' A similar request from the Green Company, confirmation that a treaty from two months ago finally went into effect, a new law hoping to ban hornmen from entering certain kinds of stores. 'All trash...' Then: ''Great Emperor Falk IX Laochalk, Retreat. Our armies will also retreat for we seek peace. Might we seek for you to petition the Delkish Empire for our pardon? Us who worship Calthoss worship a god of two natures. Here and now he asks us to sue for peace. Cronenn's Crop is safe. Ayeson will rescind his claim to the Stone Empire. Let us live and there need not be war. Be safe. Sincerely, Duke Gebel Snakepit This was obviously part of some sort of plan. The letter was too awkwardly worded for that to not be abundantly obvious. That was not beyond him. Gebel was famed for his nature as a trickster aside from his powerful magickal abilities. 'Be safe,' he thought, 'that barbarian. I hope he burns in hell.' He walked up to his fireplace, meaning to burn the letter. The black ink was wet, and he wiped his hands. He looked up out the window next to the fireplace. In the distance, to the southeast, he saw a black star shining. He dropped the letter, and approached the window, "huh-?" The letter, written in blachumor, caught fire, and then exploded violently. Falk's body was bathed in flames. (< Previous Chapter) - (Next Chapter >) Category:Tale of Zul Category:Chapters